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Updated: June 6, 2025
And I never stopped working. "But the funny part was that I gradually forgot about John Marcey. When I had arrived as an opera singer he was entirely dead for me. But last month I visited my home town. I was passing through and couldn't resist getting off and looking up people I knew as a girl. My folks are dead, you know.
They needed few explanations their minds were moving with the same thought. "I would not have it changed, and of course no one cared to touch it. So it has hung there." "As I placed it ten years ago," he said. They both became silent for a time, and at last he said: "Marcey had no one, Sergeant Laforce a mother." "It killed his mother," she whispered, looking into the white sunlight.
All went well until Marcey dug a hole in the ground, put a stone in it, and, burying it, said it was Laforce's heart. Then Laforce pretended to ventriloquise, and mocked Marcey's slight stutter. That was the beginning of the trouble, and Lucille, like any lady of the world, troubled at Laforce's unkindness, tried to smooth things over tried very gravely.
"And when I walked down the street the same old funny little Main Street I remembered John Marcey. And, would you believe it, that same feeling of fear came back to me as I'd had that night on the porch when he made his 'remember' speech. I got curious as the devil about John and felt afraid to inquire.
There were many mock quarrels, in one of which Marcey sent her a letter by the Company's courier, covered with great seals, saying, "I return you the hairpin, the egg-shell, and the white wolf's tooth. Go to your Laforce, or whatever his ridiculous name may be."
They tried to take the child away, but she would not go; and when they carried Marcey on the shutter she followed close by, resisting her father's wishes and commands. And just before they made a prisoner of Laforce, she said to him very quietly so like a woman she was "I will give you back the basket, and the riding-whip, and the other things, and I will never forgive you never no, never!"
Looking now, he saw that the shutter, which had been pulled off to bear the body away, was hanging there just as he had placed it, with seven of its slats broken and a dark stain in one corner. Something more of John Marcey than memory attached to that shutter.
Marcey and Laforce were only boys then, neither yet twenty-three, and they were friendly rivals with the sweet little coquette, who gave her favors with a singular impartiality and justice. Once Marcey had given her a gold spoon. Laforce responded with a tiny, fretted silver basket. Laforce was delighted to see her carrying her basket, till she opened it and showed the spoon inside.
"That is the thing. Then, do not forget that Marcey took his life in his hands himself, that he would have killed Laforce if Laforce hadn't killed him." "I know, I know," she said, "but I should have felt the same if John Marcey had killed Stroke Laforce." "It is a pity to throw your life away," he ventured. He said this for a purpose. He did not think she was throwing it away.
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